Flirting and Fighting
by How Beautifully Blue the Sky
Summary: Teenagers flirt and fight and fall in love in Harry's sixth year. A series of related oneshots exploring that iconic sentence from the back of the book. Various canon and plausibly canon pairings, including Ron and Lavender's troubled courtship, Susan and Ernie's short-lived fling, and Parvati's quest to find a date for the Slug Club Christmas party.
1. Ron and Lavender

_Welcome! Half-Blood Prince is my favorite book precisely because of the description on the back: "As in all wars, life goes on...Sixth-year students learn to Apparate, losing a few eyebrows in the process. Teenagers flirt and fight and fall in love..." I love Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione as much as the next person, but there is so much scope for exploration in this book outside of those pairings!_

* * *

She genuinely envisioned herself with Ron forever. Visions of their future life together interrupted her every hour of the day, and dreams infiltrated her sleep. She saw their future children around every corner and their wedding unfold in the common room each evening.

What's more, she was certain Ron felt the same way. He was simply shy, unimaginative, taciturn. All boys were like that.

Her dream diary and her tea leaves bolstered her assessment, time and again. Of course she would be with him.

She could tell he was secretly pleased whenever she abandoned her adjacent armchair and settled herself on his lap, even if she had accidentally knocked over his inkpot once, and even if it was a little harder for him to write his essays reaching around her. He would rest his hand reassuringly on her waist when she did it, wouldn't she? And he returned her initiated kisses with ample enthusiasm. That was all the affirmation she needed.

"Won-Won, what shall we do for Valentine's Day?" she asked him a few days after the term began. It was dinner, and she'd claimed him the moment he entered the Great Hall with Harry.

"Er, I dunno," Ron said, and immediately ate an enormous forkful of his roast, his jaw straining to chew it properly. "What day of the week is it?"

"It's a Saturday! Perfect, right?" On the one hand, Ron could delight her if he suggested a perfectly romantic activity, such as giving each other increasingly elaborate and niche gifts based on moments they'd shared in the days leading up to the holiday, culminating in something declarative and permanent like an invitation to spend the summer with him in Europe.

Of course, other Valentine's plans would be acceptable too.

On the other hand, if Ron's suggestions were not forthcoming, she had free rein. And she was _excellent_ at romance.

"Oh," said Ron slowly, taking the time to ponder her question seriously while continuing to devour his dinner, "I s'pose we could…have breakfast together? And then, maybe, walk around the grounds for a bit?"

"That sounds _perfect_!" Lavender smiled fondly. "I'll start thinking about it too and we can do something really _special_!"

Sure, his suggestion wasn't quite as personalized or thoughtful as she would hope for in an ideal world, but she had, after all, put him on the spot, so really that was to be expected.

She raised the subject a few times after that day, but Ron never emitted more than a mumbled "I dunno, I'm still thinking about it", or sometimes simply a grunt of acknowledgment.

When she said, "If only there was someplace in the castle we could be _really _alone in the winter!", hoping he'd suggest the Room of Requirement but not wanting to sound too forward, he merely shrugged and said, "Yeah, that's a bit tricky."

She considered planning her own elaborate docket of activities, but Ron had taken ownership of the day and had said _multiple_ times he was forming a plan, so she didn't want to be overbearing for foisting her own suggestions on him.

Later, when she said, "I think you're really going to _love_ your present," he hadn't said anything at all. He had been in the middle of a heated chess game with Harry at the time, so perhaps she shouldn't have brought it up, but she'd been bursting ever since she thought of it to share it with him, and decided she just couldn't wait a moment longer to tease him.

Admittedly, Ron was never particularly demonstrative in his love for her. She didn't want to be pett_y_, but she had been the one to say _I love you_ first, and she usually had to pry him away from Harry to even eat their meals together. Even if she felt the tiniest bit like she was throwing herself at him when she tried to offer him a blowjob or initiate a makeout session…well, not everyone was comfortable expressing themselves verbally or physically, and if Ron wanted to work on those skills with her, she was willing to be his patient mentor.

He did, after all, _want_ to work on those skills with her. She was fairly certain of that.

She had written an impressively long letter to Mandy about this, whether Ron truly loved her as she loved him – well, multiple letters, actually. Luckily, Mandy was just as garrulous when it came to romance as Lavender was, and her replies had been most helpful.

_It sounds like he's just your typical teenage boy,_ Mandy had written. _They have no idea how to be in a relationship. You need to help them do _everything_. Just keep trying – make romantic gestures, keep being affectionate, ask him on dates – which I know is hard to do in the castle! He might not _tell _you that he appreciates these things, or that he loves you, but if he's still with you, that means he likes them._

Mandy was Lavender's sister, five years older than her, and in Lavender's opinion, the ultimate authority on romance. She'd married her Hogwarts boyfriend, a dreamy Ravenclaw who now worked at a private Wizarding wealth management company, eight months after they'd left school, had an adorable toddler, and had recently announced her second pregnancy.

_The important thing_, Mandy went on, _are his prospects. Sixth year boys have no personality – you can't judge him for not living up to romance novels. Imagine him in ten years. Is he good with your kids? Where is he working? Are _you_ working? Also – and you know I'm not prejudiced, but it's something to consider – he's a pureblood. That's security. You deserve security. _

Lavender knew Ron's family didn't have much money – everyone knew that about the Weasleys – but his father and brother worked for the Ministry, and his other brother worked for Gringotts. That was impressive. She'd asked Ron once what he wanted to do once they left school, and he'd shrugged and said, "I dunno, do I? I have ages left to figure it out."

That said, she disagreed with Mandy that Ron had no personality. He was sarcastic and pithy and liked to play Quidditch and chess. Lavender didn't _quite_ know how to relate to either of those activities, but he seemed to enjoy them, which proved Mandy wasn't infallible.

Just because Henry, Mandy's husband, had the personality of a damp dishcloth didn't mean Ron was the same way, Lavender thought fiercely.

The question remained, as January turned into February, what she ought to get him for Valentine's Day.

She never saw him wear the necklace she'd gotten him for Christmas. That one had been her mother's idea.

Her mother wrote her constantly about Ron. She'd spent much of the holiday break cajoling Lavender, who'd been rather lugubrious over Ron's apparent lack of reciprocated affection, to give him a second or third or even fourth chance.

"Who you date at Hogwarts is so important," her mother had warned her. "You don't want to let these years slip past you. Once you leave school, it's _so _much harder."

True, her mother, like Mandy, had married right after leaving school.

Lavender didn't want to become a mother at nineteen, like Mandy and her mother, even though Mandy gushed over her children and Lavender loved spending time with her niece. But she did want to marry soon, and raise children, and she didn't know what career she wanted to pursue outside of Divination. Even Professor Trelawney acknowledged it would be difficult for Lavender to pursue a career as a Seer.

Of course, Lavender had never told Ron how detailed and elaborate her fantasies were. She would have her wedding in her aunt's spacious backyard, which had a brook running through it. She had initially wanted a pink dress, but she didn't think it would suit Ron's coloring, so she envisioned pale green.

They'd honeymoon in France; she'd always wanted to visit the Riviera, and she still frequently wrote a Beauxbatons girl she'd met two years ago. Then, Lavender would get a job, of course, but only so they could start saving for the kids.

She didn't need Mandy and her mother to tell her sharing this with Ron would not help salvage their relationship.

_Of course_, she corrected herself fiercely, _I don't need to _salvage _anything because we're perfectly happy together._

Despite all of this, for Valentine's Day, she was determined to do something spectacular for him.

She started by writing him a letter. She made the paper herself, marbled pink parchment, just a touch of shimmer. Mandy had given her an excellent Christmas present – _Crafty Spells for Crafty Witches _– and Lavender had excitedly tried out a few of the projects inside already.

She wrote the letter very late one night, in the common room, when she should have been writing a Charms essay. She'd meant to write the essay that evening, but Parvati had been hysterical over her own lack of Valentine's Day plans, and Lavender had gotten sucked into an endless conversation on the matter.

Really, _that_ was what her mother and sister had warned her about. That's why she'd started liking Ron so long ago. One should always think ahead in these matters, in her opinion.

In the letter, she opted for radical honesty. She confessed the extent of her love for him over several pages – which, yes, she'd told him before a few times already, but this time she'd introduced some new metaphors – and told him she wanted to spend the summer with him. She told him he made her deliriously happy and she loved every moment she spent with him. She detailed several dreams she'd had recently on the subject, and she offered to interpret Ron's dreams if he felt any trepidation toward their relationship.

She had accidentally devoted a page to pondering morosely whether Ron loved her back, exploring endlessly which of several categories of romantic interest Ron best fit into, from exclusively sexual interest (if only) to utter infatuation (she could only hope).

Then, she read the page over, realized she'd devolved into unattractive bitterness, and thriftily siphoned off the ink to reuse the parchment. She would never want to be perceived as melodramatic.

Once finished, she sealed the letter, sprayed a small puff of her perfume onto the paper, and went to sleep, exhausted, homework still very much undone.

The next day, February thirteenth, she asked Seamus to stow it under Ron's pillow that night. He acquiesced; she pretended not to notice the slight grimace and the way he held the card by the tips of his fingers. Mandy's words echoed in her mind: _They secretly love romance, but they won't admit; you just have to internalize that and persevere. _

The letter wasn't exactly spectacular, but she'd tried spectacular at Christmas, and she feared Ron hated that gift. Lavender thought the heartfulness, the utter sincerity with which she'd penned the letter, would finally make Ron respond the way she daydreamed he would: with a romantic declaration of love, by kissing her in front of everyone, by inviting her to eat dinner with him, by _finally_ going down on her.

Never mind that Henry, Mandy's husband, had proposed to her in front of everyone on Valentine's Day in their seventh year – Ron wasn't Henry, and Lavender didn't want him to be.

Not to mention, Ron still had a year to work up to that.

On the morning of Valentine's Day, Lavender woke up early. She knew she ought to chip away at her Transfiguration assigned reading, but she picked up her novel instead. She had a whole stack of them, well-worn, a torrid Wizarding romance series featuring a spunky heroine and her dashing companion. She reread them compulsively over and over.

Today, the familiar words failed to relax her as she waited for others around her to wake up. She didn't want to seem overeager.

The moment Hermione, a typically early riser, drew the curtains on her bed, rubbing her eyes, Lavender rose as well. She chose her outfit carefully: her most flattering jeans, a flowing, lilac top. She spent a long while braiding her hair, working it into an intricate design, and spent far too much time perfecting her makeup.

Then, when Parvati was ready to bodily remove her from the dormitory, she retrieved from her trunk the second part of her gift to Ron: a small bouquet of lavender, which she'd purchased via post from a magical nursery, and which was guaranteed to live for years without water or nutrition. Lavender couldn't expect Ron to remember to water the plant, after all, but at least this way, he could keep them on his windowsill and think of her.

Bouquet in hand, she descended the stairs, wondering if Ron waited for her in the common room. She was disappointed; a few groups of younger students clustered there, but it was mostly empty. No matter – she assumed he hadn't come down yet, though the morning was certainly getting on.

She sat down to wait and told Parvati to go ahead without her. .

Students filtered in and out, including a few other couples holding hands, but Lavender was patient. She didn't even ask after Ron when Seamus and Dean left for breakfast together. He'd suggested they eat breakfast together, after all – obviously, he must have had a bit of a lie-in and was now getting ready to meet her.

It was to her shocked dismay, then, when twenty minutes later Ron came through the portrait hole, laughing with Harry.

Her immediate thought was he had forgotten. But he _couldn't_ have. He wouldn't do that to her.

When he saw her and said without the least chagrin, "Oh hey, Lavender – happy Valentine's Day," before turning back to Harry and saying, "So he had the easiest penalty in the world, but his hand slipped and he _dropped _the Quaffle," she thought that might actually be worse.

Harry, slightly more perceptive than Ron, glanced back at Lavender guiltily but said nothing.

"Won-Won?" she said, her voice much higher and tighter than she intended it. "Have you, er, already eaten?"

"Oh," said Ron. "Yeah…did you want to go together?"

Lavender tried her very best to keep emotion out of her voice, but an angry waver was evident even to her as she said, "I just _thought_ we'd planned on spending the day together, starting with breakfast, but if you're _busy_…"

"No, no," said Ron hastily, "Harry, I'll, uh, see you later, all right?" Ron reached for Lavender's hand, and she felt immediately placated.

"So, what do you want to do?" Ron asked her, settling into the armchair beside her.

Lavender felt her eyes begin to prickle. "Well…we talked about walking around the grounds," she began – but she saw outside the window it had begun to sleet, freezing rain pouring down onto the icy crust of snow already on the ground. "And I have these to give you," she finished lamely, holding out the lavender bouquet.

Ron took it, looking shifty. "Thanks, Lav, these are really pretty! I'll…keep them in my dormitory, shall I?"

Lavender sniffed and gamely persevered: "They're enchanted, so you don't have to worry about watering them or anything. Just put them in a vase or a vial. They should stay alive for years."

She swallowed and bit her lip, hard, anything to make her tears recede. She didn't want to be crying over nothing when Ron gave her a gift in return.

Ron, however, made no movement to pull a small token from his pocket, or return to his room to fetch her present from his trunk.

Lavender waited. Ron said nothing. Ron withdrew his hand, started picking at his fingernails.

Desperate now, Lavender shifted, hoping to sidle alongside of Ron in the armchair, but Ron gave no ground. She settled instead for perching on the armrest, putting her arm around his shoulders, resting her other hand on his forearm.

"Did you…find my letter?" she said conspiratorially, trying for some semblance of calm in her voice, though she couldn't understand why Ron was acting this way or how the morning could have gone so awry so quickly.

"Oh yeah," said Ron. "Thanks for that!" She thought he might finally be registering some of her consternation and was planning to reassure her of his love when he opened his mouth to continue speaking, but then he said, "How did you get it under my pillow, anyway?"

Lavender swallowed hard; she couldn't stop the tears from welling in her eyes now. "Seamus," she said, though she'd been planning on keeping that part secret, an element of romantic intrigue.

Finally, _finally_, Ron heard her tone and looked up. His expression horrified, he said hastily, "What's wrong? I loved the letter, it was sweet of you to write it…"

"Nothing's wrong," said Lavender, sniffing madly, "I just _thought_ we were going to exchange gifts before spending the day together, but then you ate without me, and now we can't go outside..." She tactfully elected not to mention he had apparently not gotten her a present in return.

Behind Ron, she could see his sister Ginny and her friend Demelza watching the exchange but pretending not to. Irritation flared, but this only made her tears worse.

"We can still go outside!" Ron said encouragingly. "In the courtyard, at least, it wouldn't be too chilly…" He trailed off when he glanced out the window at the sideways sleet.

Lavender said nothing, waiting to see if this was the best he could offer. When he said nothing more, just looked at her insipidly, she gave a _tsk _of exasperation and stood up, tears now streaming freely from her eyes.

"Actually, I think I'm just going to go to the library," she announced, withdrawing her arm from Ron's shoulders roughly and standing up. "I have a lot of studying to do. I'm going to get my bag from my room. I hope you enjoyed your presents."

She left him stared blankfaced after her. In her dormitory, she spent several minutes composing herself, breathing deeply, splashing cold water on her face, adjusting her makeup where she'd smeared it by rubbing at her eyes.

When she went back down the stairs, Ron was waiting for her. She said nothing and strode past him, through the portrait hole. She could hear his footsteps pattering behind her as she made her way to the library, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

She reached the library and sat down at an empty table. Ron sat down across from her, but she steadfastly began removing her parchment and Charms textbook, refusing to make eye contact.

To his credit, Lavender had to admit grudgingly, he was patient. He was patient the entire morning, writing on his own parchment across from her, saying nothing, waiting for her to cool down.

Honestly, it was quite gallant.

As the hours passed, Lavender found her anger slipping away. So he had done nothing to prepare for Valentine's Day. Clearly, she hadn't effectively expressed her needs or expectations, and he hadn't known what to expect. She _was_ his first girlfriend, after all. She couldn't expect him to read her mind. And he'd blown off her later, so what? She _knew_ he was shy, and tongue-tied; she was suddenly sure he'd read it excitedly, had understood and reciprocated her feelings but just couldn't tell him.

So, just after noon, when Ron reached across the table for her hand, spreading his stocky fingers over her own long, delicate ones, and said, "Hey, Lav, want to get some lunch?", she smiled at him, nodded once, and they stood up and left the library together.

* * *

_I spent a long time thinking about how to portray Lavender sympathetically. Ron is great, but he really is terrible to her this year, as well as generally passive and reliant on the emotional labor of others, like a lot of teenage boys. I definitely see Lavender leaning into that dynamic. Thanks for reading and leaving your thoughts!_

_In this collection, I envision chapters about established couples (like this one), plausible couples (like the next one), students pining after each other, exes contemplating the state of affairs, wavering platonic friendships...there are so many permutations! Next up: Susan and Ernie. _


	2. Ernie and Susan

"You know I love Ernie," Hannah said, "but you two are _so _ill-suited." She punctuated her remark with a stolen glance at the boy in question, who was sitting across the common room.

Susan _tsk_ed in indignation. "I can't believe you'd say that! You fancied him for all of third year."

"I had bad taste," Hannah shrugged dismissively. "When we were thirteen, overwhelming pretention was the way to my heart."

"Okay, he's a _little _pretentious," Susan admitted, "but that's because he's so smart. And talented. _And_ cute. He has a lot to be proud of."

Hannah bit her lip and looked down, her good humor evaporated. Susan, half-pitying, half-exasperated, said hastily, "Hannah. Stop worrying about NEWTs. You have so much time to work out what to do next!"

Hannah's failure to pass her Transfiguration and Potions OWLs, coupled with her average marks in Charms and Herbology, had left her fairly distraught and delicate to the point of aggravating in these first few weeks of the term. Susan, who had listened to Hannah's academic anxieties for over five years now, knew the only course of action was to resist indulging in Hannah's favorite activity, spinning out worst-case scenarios.

Eager to change the subject, Susan reverted to Ernie's qualifications. "Honestly! You're his best friend, I don't know why you can't see this. We're perfect together!"

"Is he a good kisser?" asked Hannah skeptically, sniffing loudly.

"Well…" Susan thought of their first kiss, which had happened on the first day of term. Ernie's hands had moved businesslike over her body, his tongue probing her mouth somewhat stiffly before withdrawing. Ernie rarely looked sheepish, but he had after the kiss – a not-altogether-flattering facial expression on him.

"It's not like I have a lot of kisses to compare it with," she hedged.

"That means it was shit," giggled Hannah, apparently thoroughly cheered by Ernie's lack of kissing prowess. "I knew it!"

"It wasn't _shit_!" protested Susan, laughing too. "And it's only been a few weeks! This is just for fun anyway. Merlin knows we need it." She glanced at Eloise, who was crying openly in the corner adjacent to them, surrounded by friends and acquaintances. She'd just lost the fight with her father to stay at Hogwarts, and was reportedly withdrawing the following day.

Even as their giddiness dwindled, Ernie caught their eye from across the room and smiled at them, clambering to his feet to join his friends.

"Hello, ladies," he said as he reached them, and even this caused Hannah to snort conspicuously. "Pity about Eloise, isn't it?" he said conspiratorially. "Ah well, so we beat on, boats against the current." He paused for a beat, eyeing them to gauge their reaction, before plunging ahead. "Famous Muggle author, you know. Fitzgerald. American. Just started the unit in Muggle Studies."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Come off it, Ernie," she said fondly. "Sit down and stop showing off." As always with Ernie, one had to be obliging yet firm.

To Susan's delight, Ernie sat on the couch next to her and slung his arm casually across her shoulders. Susan looked meaningfully at Hannah, who – bless her – immediately caught the hint and said, "It's getting late – I'm going upstairs. Night, you two!"

After she left, Ernie leaned over to Susan's neck and nuzzled it affectionately. At least, Susan assumed it was meant to be affectionate, but when he moved his lips slowly up her neck to her ear and promptly inserted his tongue into her earlobe, she couldn't quite suppress a shudder.

It wasn't _unpleasant_, exactly. She was just reminded of her dog at home with her parents, greeting her with a couple of licks before she could dodge his tongue.

"Do you like that?" Ernie said huskily.

The problem with Ernie's attempt at sultry seduction was he was normally so heartily longwinded that any other mood seemed superficial, even performative.

Susan thought she might be in love with Ernie, but she still wanted to cringe.

"Er…yes!" she said hastily, simultaneously shifting slightly so she was out of reach of his enthusiastic tongue.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he continued, undeterred.

"I only have the one class, Herbology," Susan said, "After that, I'm not sure. Start that massive Charms essay for Monday, maybe, though I might not work up the motivation as it's Friday. I might write my parents."

To her embarrassment, Susan found her own eyes welling with tears. She blinked rapidly to keep Ernie from noticing. Her father was not handling the death of his sister well at all. Though Amelia Bones' funeral was in early July, her father was still barely functional, rising late and sleeping early, liable to stare off in the distance for hours at a time. They had been very close, and Susan had loved her too.

She'd hated to leave her parents in their grief, and had written at least half a dozen long letters even in their short time back at Hogwarts as a way to ease her guilt. So far, it had mostly failed.

Ernie didn't acknowledge her sudden swell of emotion, simply said, "Well, I completed my Charms essay with no trouble yesterday, so I'm happy to lend a hand if you feel you need it."

"Thanks," said Susan hollowly. She did appreciate Ernie ignoring her tears, but she wasn't at all sure he had even noticed them, which made her view his response less generously. Even a sympathetic hand squeeze would have helped!

They sat together for a while longer, chatting idly. Ernie played with her hair, which made Susan literally tingle. She'd never had a proper boyfriend before; she found she was most enjoying the casual physical contact, the small displays of affection. Ernie, while largely incompetent at kissing, seemed quite self-assured in this aspect, and Susan reveled in every touch.

When she bid him good night later, she was happy until she heard Eloise's muffled sobs, two beds down from her own. Grimacing to herself, she climbed into bed and tried to sleep.

Over the next few weeks, she learned more about Ernie than she ever had in five years of fast friendship. Some was superficial – she'd never noticed the only vegetable he would eat were peas. Some, less so. He was deeply invested in his study schedules, lovingly crafted every Sunday night. He even included her, in squares simply marked _Time with Susan._

At first she found it unbearably endearing, and _Time with Susan_ in Ernie's neat, round handwriting floated across her mind in quiet moments and made her smile.

After just a few weeks, though, she found his strict adherence aggravating.

"You're welcome to follow along to map your own study habits," he'd told her superciliously. "I've simply found this to be an effective way to ensure I give all of my subjects due consideration. And after my OWL results, I think I'd have to say it works quite well." Remembering his numerous mind-numbing recitations of his study schedule last spring when they'd been in OWL frenzy, Susan hadn't dared say anymore.

Hannah maintained her friendly disbelief. She quickly perfected a _Well, what did you expect_? look she directed at Susan whenever Susan told her of an outrageously pompous behavior from Ernie. Susan, however, found it rather adorable.

Yes, Ernie was a bit grandiose, never one to pass up the opportunity to slip in an obscure reference or correct someone's grammar or pronunciation. But she liked and valued intelligence, and she loved he was so excited about sharing his mind with the world that it all tended to burst out of him uncontrollably.

Susan and Hannah both found their coursework nearly overwhelming several weeks into term. Hannah was still hopeless at nonverbal spells – she could barely manage them in practice, and almost never in class – and Susan found them frightfully difficult as well.

Combined with the lengthy reading assignments each teacher heaped on them, and the ever-longer essays and homework assignments, Susan was barely keeping her head above water, and that was without factoring in her parents, who she thought were struggling as well. She still wrote long, detailed letters to them, but the letters in return from her father were brusque to the point of hurtful, and her mothers' were doleful and avoided any mention of her father.

One Charms class in early October, Professor Flitwick stopped by their table and remarked to Susan and Hannah, who were both struggling to make the quills in front of them even wiggle when they were meant to be writing out letters in perfect script, "More practice on your own, please! You girls mustn't let yourself fall too far behind on nonverbal spells so early in the year!"

Beside her, Ernie's quill was scrawling excitedly, crafting perfect As over and over again. As Flitwick moved away from them, he whispered, "If you like, I can help you in our free period after break."

She realized only later that Ernie had previously scheduled Transfiguration homework into that free period, and his good-faith suggestion actually did acknowledge and respond to her mortification at being singled out in class. In the moment, though, she snapped, "Merlin, I get it, you got an O in Charms, could you stop showing off for five seconds, please?"

Under the table, she jerked her leg away from Ernie's hand, which had been resting on her knee a moment before, a display of affection Susan usually loved.

In their free period, she obstinately retreated to the sixth year girls' dormitory, where Ernie couldn't follow.

There were wonderful, perfect, utterly gratifying moments with Ernie too, of course. Romantic was not an apt description of him, but he was fastidious, often thoughtful to the extreme. He often didn't notice if she was drained or upset, but he would charm anything to make her smile, from a flower to a quill to a slice of tomato at dinner. He would draw small woodland creatures on parchment and animate them with his wand, so they would wave at her with a speech bubble saying _Hi, Susan!_

Ernie was a pleasant boyfriend. But she wasn't ecstatic now when she considered _Time with Susan_, as she had been a few weeks ago. In fact – and she hated to admit it, even to herself – she found it a little tiresome. She resented feeling as though she had an appointment with her boyfriend, and she certainly resented his inattention to her at other times.

And he was undeniably condescending.

Ernie was a great friend. She just wasn't sure he was a great boyfriend.

Further, she knew her boyfriend at almost-seventeen didn't dictate the rest of her life. She and Ernie weren't serious. What was stopping her from dating him for a few months and letting matters develop organically?

Nothing, she reasoned…_if_ the thought of Ernie's stiff lovemaking and daily _Time With Susan_ didn't leave her feeling unavoidably unfulfilled.

She wished things were like they had been before, when they were friends, or even over the summer when they wrote each other long, overtly flirtatious letters.

But they weren't, and couldn't be anymore, so she had to break up with him.

This decided, Susan dawdled. Of course, the moment she determined her course of action, things seemed to improve. Ernie relaxed his schedule slightly, though their workload didn't slacken. Something clicked inside her, and nonverbal spells were suddenly easier. Ernie began to relax when they snogged and their intimacy brought her more pleasure.

They spent a day in Hogsmeade together and talked incessantly over glass after glass of butterbeer; as they walked back to the castle in the bitter cold, Susan realized her cheeks ached from smiling and laughing.

The next morning, however, her good humor vanished and she fortified her decision to break up with him. After Susan mentioned in passing cleanliness was not her forte, Ernie corrected her pronunciation of the word in one sentence and launched into a long-winded explanation of the word's etymology in the next. She left breakfast glad she'd agreed to spend the day in the student greenhouses with Hannah so she could clear her sudden bad temper.

The moment Hannah and Susan cleared the threshold of the castle, heading toward the greenhouses, Hannah turned to Susan, clutching her arm in excitement.

"You will _not _believe what I have to tell you!"

"What?" asked Susan, startled.

"It's too cold to talk out here," Hannah said, towing Susan along against the wind. "I'll tell you inside."

"What is it, then?" Susan repeated as the humidity and merciful warmth of the greenhouse enveloped them.

"So," began Hannah dramatically, beginning to unpeel the various layers of clothing she'd donned for the short walk, "I was talking to Ernie last night. After you went to bed. He was telling me about your day in Hogsmeade."

Hannah crossed the entryway to her small row of pepper plants, a personal project she'd started this term. "He's _obsessed_ with you," she continued, looking back at Susan, who was still disrobing. "He was going on and on about how he can't stop thinking of you, that he wants to tell you he loves you but he's afraid it's too early. Seriously! It was a true Ernie monologue."

"Why was he going on about it to you?" Susan asked, playing for time.

"I think he wanted me to relay it to you so I could gauge your reaction, honestly," Hannah said. "Either that, or he couldn't help himself after you left him so lovestruck. Though if he asked me how you responded, right now I'd probably have to lie so as not to break his heart…what's up? I thought you'd be excited!"

"Actually…" Susan began, wondering if it wouldn't be easier to beam, squeal, and pull Ernie aside to reciprocate his sentiments that evening.

"I was thinking of breaking up with him," she confessed in a rush.

"Susan! Why?"

"Well, he can be a bit overwhelming!" she said defensively. "And he's _so_ focused on school. He doesn't have that much time for me, to be honest. And when you're his friend you can, you know, sort of rein him in when he's being long-winded. But as his girlfriend you can't! I'm just supposed to listen to him!"

"I mean, I said all this from the beginning," Hannah said, half amused. "But he's going to be _so _upset," she continued somberly. "He has no idea at all. How are you going to do it?"

"I've been putting it off," Susan admitted. "I figured we were just mucking about. But if I don't break up with him now, aren't I…leading him on?"

"Can you add the fertilizer to the plants? Then I'll charm them after," Hannah said abruptly after a pause, and Susan began pouring enhanced fertilizer into Hannah's pots. "And yes," Hannah added, following behind Susan, poking her wand into each mound of soil. "You would be leading him on. You have to do it soon." Nothing discernible happened after each wand thrust, but Herbology was Hannah's best subject and Susan was inclined to trust her.

They didn't speak of Ernie again the rest of the morning, but that afternoon, after choking down half a sandwich at lunch, Susan broke up with him.

It was quick, and easier than Susan expected. She'd never broken up with anyone before, didn't really know how, but she tried to be quick and kind. She told him she wanted to remain friends.

He said nothing, stonefaced, very still. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "Ah well, we had a good run, you and I." Then he walked away from her, leaving the deserted corridor she'd pulled him into, and when she followed him back into the common room after giving him a tactful head start, he was gone.

He didn't show up for dinner that night, nor for Defense Against the Dark Arts the following morning. Susan was alarmed; Ernie _never_ skipped class. She knew he had a free period immediately following Defense, and headed to the library, hoping to head him off.

He was there, mounds of paper and several books piled around him; evidently, he had skipped class not to wallow, as Susan had feared, but to immerse himself in study. Or perhaps, Susan realized, it amounted to the same thing.

"Ernie?" she said tentatively, and he jumped, catching her eye for just a moment before mumbling, "Oh, hi, Susan, I was…er, just leaving." He packed his belongings at a breakneck pace while Susan stood in front of him awkwardly, trying to think of something to say.

"I'm really sorry," she whispered finally as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said stiffly, and brushed past her without another word.

He'd left a paper; it had floated onto the chair across the table from him when he'd packed up. Susan examined it; it was his schedule, presumably crafted the evening before, as was his Sunday habit. She saw with dismay he'd filled in every hour with reading for class, essay writing, spell practice. There were no free hours, no breaks, no time with Hannah or his other friends.

Most glaringly, there was no _Time with Susan. _

Susan sat down, schedule in front of her, and put her head in her hands. She stayed that way for a few minutes, breathing softly, trying to soothe herself with darkness in front of her eyes.

Finally, she stood, folding the paper once in half, tucking it into her own bookbag. She would give Ernie today to mope.

Then tomorrow, she would give him back his calendar, smile tentatively at him, and ask him if he wanted to join Hannah and her in a three-way game of Reusable Hangman.

* * *

_I'm not sure there's any interaction with Ernie in the books where he's not described as pompous. Having dated more than one person who reminds me of Ernie myself, I wanted to try and capture that personality with a few more redeeming features thrown in. Thanks for reading and leaving your thoughts!_


	3. Parvati

The first Parvati heard of Slughorn's Christmas party was with Lavender, sitting at the Gryffindor dinner table in late November, alongside Ginny, Dean, Seamus, and Demelza.

Ginny was complaining vociferously over Slughorn's treatment of her friend Demelza, who according to Ginny was a damn sight better than her at Potions but was routinely overlooked.

"He's such an _ass_," she finished with finality.

"Take me to Slughorn's party instead of Dean, then. He'll notice me, for sure!" Demelza said, elbowing Ginny playfully in the ribs. "Ginny Weasley's girlfriend!"

"Can you _imagine_," Ginny said, snorting. "His eyes would fall out of his head!"

"Oh, but you mustn't think I'm prejudiced," Demelza returned in a perfect imitation of Slughorn's bluster.

"_Ass_," they repeated in unison.

Dean and Seamus, across from the pair, looked slightly agog.

Lavender, however, was undistracted by their antics.

"Christmas party?" she said. "What kind of Christmas party?"

"Oh, it's supposed to be really posh," Ginny said dismissively. "Apparently he's inviting all the _alumni _of the _Slug Club_, so we can _mingle_." She mocked each emphasized word.

"For Club members only, then?" pushed Lavender, looking crestfallen.

"That's what it sounded like. Slughorn's invites only, and their dates. It's elitist bullshit."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you in dress robes, Gin," Dean began earnestly, but Parvati was done eating and ready to debrief the news with Lavender. They arose at the same time and left the hall, bidding goodbye to their friends.

"I am going to that party," Parvati announced the moment they were out of earshot.

"No fair!" Lavender pouted. "I want to go! And you know I can't even _mention_ it to Ron, he's so _sensitive _about the stupid Slug Club and how he's never invited. He'd be sullen for hours."

"No complaining about your hot boyfriend!" Parvati said, lightly enough so Lavender would assume she was kidding. "Help me brainstorm members of the Slug Club instead!"

"Cormac McLaggen-" began Lavender, assenting immediately.

"- a little overbearing, but there are worse options."

"That's it for Gryffindor, I think, unless you want to ask Harry."

"Never again."

"Ravenclaw only has that girl, Melinda Bobbin, and that seventh year who's dating Katie Bell's Hufflepuff friend Leanne," continued Lavender, ticking each member off on her fingers while displaying her impressive aptitude for gossip.

"And some fourth-year boy," corrected Parvati, "Padma told me. I think his name is Iain. I don't know anything about him."

"That's a little young," said Lavender thoughtfully. "You don't want to be seen as _desperate_."

"Hufflepuff – that Quidditch player, I think his name is Cadwallader? Simon, maybe?" Parvati stayed businesslike.

"Now _there's_ an idea. He's really cute!"

"That might be everyone from Hufflepuff. I'll ask Ernie, I'm sure he'll know."

"And for Slytherin," finished Lavender, "the only person I know of is Blaise Zabini. There may be others."

"Oh, _he's_ cute," breathed Parvati. "But is he…you know…_prejudiced_?"

"Probably." Lavender wrinkled her nose. "You might need to do some vetting. I've never really heard him speak."

"I'll have to," Parvati said grimly. "If Zabini and Cawallader are my only viable options."

Plans formulated in Parvati's head the rest of the night, half-formed, fluttering about while she tried to complete her homework.

She was still bitter about the Yule Ball. It wasn't all the time. She didn't even think about it that often anymore. But when it crept into her mind, she was still very much perturbed.

She'd forgiven Harry, though she knew Padma could not say the same about Ron. Fourteen-year-old boys could not be expected to dance, carry on conversation, or otherwise behave properly at formal events; she knew that now. Besides, many of her friends that year hadn't been asked at all and were thus unable to attend. She was lucky, as Lavender reminded her whenever she brought this up.

That said, she didn't plan to let _that_ disappointment happen again. A pang of bitter nostalgia still struck her when she thought about poring over dresses in catalogs with Padma, of dressing in Ravenclaw tower with Padma and her friends, only to end the night watching everyone else dance, mingle, and drink without her, as Ron and Harry completely ignored them. She would not fail to fully enjoy the most important social event of the year this time around.

Seventeen-year-old Parvati would have asked a boy to the Yule Ball without question, while fifteen-year-old Parvati had been shy and encumbered by the old-fashioned notion she had to wait to be invited**. **Unfortunately, according to Ginny that empowered approach was not an option for the Slug Club Christmas party. Parvati thought asking a boy to a party she herself was not invited to was extremely tacky; that was out of the question.

The next morning, she began reconnaissance.

She began by cornering Ernie after Defense Against the Dark Arts, falling into step alongside him.

Parvati had never particularly enjoyed Ernie's company, though she'd spent little time with him. His voice had often seemed to cut through the hubbub of Dumbledore's Army meetings where he sat with the Hufflepuffs, expounding on some subject or other; he was second only to Hermione in racing to answer questions in the classes they shared.

Nevertheless, she was confident he would have an encyclopedic knowledge of Hufflepuff Slug Club members, so it was to him she devoted her initial energies.

"Hi Ernie," she said, and he started.

"Oh, hi, Parvati."

"Listen," she said, electing for directness, "Who in Hufflepuff is in the Slug Club?"

"The Slug Club? I'm not sure Slughorn thinks to bother with us Puffs," Ernie said, rather contemptuously for someone Parvati had always known to speak of teachers with jovial respect. She'd never found him to carry much of a chip of his shoulder, but then, she figured, most Hufflepuffs did.

"I heard your Chaser, Simon Cadwallader, goes to the dinners," Parvati pressed.

"Indeed," Ernie said grimly. "He's a seventh year, but we're not on particularly friendly terms, you understand…I gave him a couple of detentions last year during OWL and NEWT season and I'm not sure he's forgiven me. Between you and me, I think his disgruntlement comes from not making prefect at all, but I'm sure Professor Sprout has her reasons. Bit of an empty head if you ask me."

"Why did Slughorn start inviting him, then?"

"A few weeks into the year he received an offer to travel to the ICW convention – that's International Confederation of Wizards, you know – as an assistant next summer. I don't know how he managed it; I expect he knows someone. He's tapped for the Department of International Magical Cooperation when he graduates."

"That sounds prestigious!"

Ernie shrugged in an apparent attempt at dismissiveness. "I should think so. Why are you asking, anyway?"

"The Slug Club just seems so mysterious," Parvati said, electing not to share her plan with Ernie. She wasn't sure he'd quiteunderstand. "I've never even met Slughorn, some people in Gryffindor can't stop talking about him though."

"I find the whole enterprise rather arbitrary," Ernie said. "It's not as if he's looking at our OWL results, is it? Or at our actual achievements?"

"It does seem random," said Parvati, eyeing Ernie as he considered expostulating further on the subject. If she wanted to avoid a recitation of his OWL results and prefect status, it was time to find an exit strategy. "Anyway, thanks for the information on Cadwallader. He sounds a real git."

"Far be it from me to speak ill of a fellow Hufflepuff, but I wouldn't say he's the most..._worthy_ representative of our House."

With these ominous words, Parvati returned to Gryffindor Tower to debrief with Lavender.

"He's a seventh year," she said to Lavender. "And Ernie _hates_ him," she continued cheerfully.

"Probably because he's in the Slug Club and Ernie isn't," Lavender said wisely. "Are you going to talk to Cadwallader, then?"

"If I can! I'm not sure the best way to approach him."

"I know one of the Beaters on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team," said Lavender. "I'll find out when they have practice. Then you can wait inside the entrance hall for when they come in, and pretend you're just coming out of the Great Hall."

Impressed with this quick formulation, Parvati thanked her. Lavender continued, "And what about Zabini? Are you going to talk to him?"

"It doesn't hurt to keep my options open, does it?" said Parvati. "I'll talk to him in Ancient Runes tomorrow."

And she tried. She arrived early and waited for him to come in. He arrived with a dark-haired Slytherin girl she didn't know. As he began unpacking his supplies, she sidled over to his desk and stood in front of him.

"Hi, Blaise!" she said cheerfully.

He, like Ernie, looked startled, which Parvati found discomfiting. Was she not friendly, popular, and outgoing? Surely she wasn't so insular as to render surprise in those she visited?

Blaise said nothing, merely nodding his head in greeting.

"I found the homework for today really challenging," Parvati said. "Didn't you?"

Blaise eyed her levelly. He didn't answer for a long moment, then said, "Not particularly. It was mostly review."

This was, in fact, true, but Parvati had been hoping for some idle chitchat before diving into important questions such as _Do you believe in maintaining pure bloodlines? _and _Would you ever call a Muggle-born a Mudblood?_

Before she could respond, Professor Babbling called the class to order and she returned to her seat next to Hermione. As the only Gryffindors continuing to NEWT in the subject, they sat together out of habit, though Parvati had never especially enjoyed Hermione's company, and had recently begun to endure lengthy diatribes from Lavender on Hermione's many faults.

Undeterred, after Runes Parvati waved at Blaise as he began to stride toward the door. "See you later!" she called. He didn't look back.

She related the small interaction to Padma later that night after dinner. She hadn't even finished before Padma cut her off.

"Zabini is an asshole," she said. "Seriously, you're better off with McLaggen or Cadwallader."

"Have you ever spoken with him?"

"Sure," Padma said. "I had Herbology with the Slytherins last year. He called Justin Finch-Fletchley – well, _you_ know."

"Really?" said Parvati, disappointed. "He doesn't hang out with the Death Eaters, though!"

"He hangs out with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, Parv. Aren't all their dads in Azkaban?"

"Every time you try to give a Slytherin a chance…Why are all the men in this school so _creepy_?"

"You know who's not creepy, though, and is so much cuter than last year…You'll laugh at me, but Harry Potter's not going out with anyone, right?"

Parvati snorted. "Seriously, Padma, half the Gryffindor girls are obsessed with Harry. It's revolting. If you wanted to get to know him, you should have joined Dumbledore's Army last year when I asked you."

"Well, I can't help it there's a shortage of attractive boys in Ravenclaw!"

"What about Marcus Belby?"

"Belby? Merlin, don't make me laugh…"

When Parvati left Padma to return to Gryffindor tower after thoroughly dissecting the sixth and seventh year boys in Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, Parvati was in a cheerful mood, despite resigning herself to crossing Zabini off her mental list.

Her mood further improved when Lavender told her Hufflepuff Quidditch practice was scheduled the evening after next.

"Here's the problem, though," Parvati said to Lavender. "I'm actually not sure I'll recognize him." She would have felt embarrassed and shallow admitting it to anyone but her best friend.

"You'll figure it out," Lavender said. "I think there are only two boys on the Hufflepuff team, and one of them is a second year."

Thus reassured, Parvati went to bed.

She knew her method of obtaining an invitation to the Christmas party _was_ shallow. But as Ernie had griped, Slughorn's methods for identifying members of his club were superficial at best and overtly problematic at worst. In her estimation, she had as much right to swanky food and an evening of elegant revelry as Melinda fucking _Bobbin_.

As it happened, Simon Cadwallader proved almost as poorly suited to her endeavor as Zabini. She blamed faulty intelligence.

She identified him easily enough as he entered the castle, laughing with another girl Parvati did not recognize.

"Oh, Simon – hi!" she said, calling out to him as she left the Great Hall. "I'm Parvati," she said, mustering as much confidence as she could.

He looked at her blankly. "Hi?"

"My friend Hannah told me you were going to the ICW convention next year," she said, determining mentioning Ernie might not be the best course of action, if the two were on poor terms. "I'm really interested in going into international affairs – I'd love to talk to you about it! And I just saw you coming in and thought, what a coincidence!" It was convenient, she thought, that the only fact she knew about him was also one sure to appeal to his ego.

"Er…sure," he said, brightening visibly, though confusion lingered in his eyes. "Are you free during break tomorrow?"

"If you like!" Parvati said. "I'm free now though, I could walk with you back to the Hufflepuff common room?"

As she said the words, the girl beside Cadwallader reached for his hand, clutching it tightly as she eyed Parvati coldly. In response, Cadwallader placed a soothing hand on her back.

Too late, Parvati realized her mistake, but gamely she fell into step on Cadwallader's other side.

"Um…how did you manage to be selected?" she asked, figuring if Cadwallader was not a viable date, she might as well try to confirm Ernie's theory of Cadwallader benefitting from nepotism for him.

"Funny you should ask," Cadwallader said, draping his arm lazily about his girlfriend's waist. "It's a bit of a long story…"

His tale was indeed so long it lasted the entirety of the walk to the common room, beginning with Cadwallader's earliest inclinations as a third year he wanted to study international magical cooperation, and ending with a call from the head of the department himself asking Cadwallader if he wanted to come along as an assistant and translator, and glossing over a family friend who invited him to job shadow at the Ministry in the summer after his fifth year as a kind of junior internship. Parvati caught this small detail with satisfaction to share later with interested parties.

"Wow, that's really interesting!" Parvati said as they stood in front of the entrance. "Er, thank you, that really helps crystallize things for me, you're sweet to take the time!"

"Of course! What other questions did you have?" asked Simon, now deeply in the spirit of things.

"That was all for right now!"

"Nonsense! You must have been curious about more if you took all this trouble to track me down."

In desperation, Parvati checked her watch and was relieved to see she had scarcely ten minutes before curfew, a tall order given the distance to Gryffindor tower.

"You're right," she said wildly. "I just didn't want to bother you with my other ones, but I have to sprint to make it to my common room before curfew! I'll have to catch up with you another time."

Before he could say anything else, she took off at a brisk walk down the end of the corridor, slowing only when she was sure she was free.

After Cadwallader, Parvati lost her taste for seducing unknown, egotistical Slug Club members. Her only remaining prospect was McLaggen, anyway, whom she'd always viewed from afar rather distastefully without being able to pinpoint a specific reason why.

"I'd just rather not go at all than go with someone who'd just talk about himself all night," she told Lavender, who nodded solemnly.

"I completely understand," Lavender said, tactfully neglecting to mention it had been Parvati's intention from the beginning to undertake exactly that plan. Parvati appreciated her friend.

Still, despite her casual demeanor, she held out hope as the party drew nearer that Harry might ask her. She found Harry's company perfectly pleasant, but would never consider dating him. However, he had asked her to a Christmas soiree out of convenience and desperation once before, and so far as she knew – and what she knew came from Lavender, who had gleaned it from Ron – he was mildly annoyed at the prospect of finding a date for the party.

Was it so hard to imagine, then, that he might turn to her once again?

* * *

_This chapter was inspired by the line in Half-Blood Prince where Parvati gloomily tells Harry she'd love to go Slughorn's party, but couldn't get an invite. Thanks for reading and leaving your thoughts!_


	4. Eloise

Most of the time, Eloise was miserable at Hogwarts.

She had no friends. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones were joined at the hip and tended to ignore her completely; the other girls in her year weren't quite as inseparable but also seemed standoffish to the point of hostility when speaking with her.

She felt uncomfortable all the time. Her face itched and stung, and her parents refused to take her to a Healer specializing in skin conditions.

She hated her classes, felt constantly behind, struggled to complete her homework, flushed every time a teacher directed her to answer a question.

She participated in no activities, as a consequence of having no friends – or perhaps her lack of interest in clubs and teams precipitated her friendless existence?

Most recently, she had failed her OWLS. Nearly all of them, at least. She'd managed to scrape an Acceptable in Herbology, but in her fellow Puffs' minds, an Herbology OWL was the absolute bare minimum of academic mediocrity.

She felt she'd studied hard, but she'd failed them anyway.

And now her parents wanted to take her out of school, which would be fine with her because she was absolutely exhausted at trying to be happy at this godforsaken school when she wasn't.

Except, she had never spoken a word to Harry Potter.

She'd heard the other Hufflepuff girls gushing over Harry ever since she'd returned to school, discussing the best way to garner his attention, or whether he was interested in Hermione Granger, or whether he really was the Chosen One. Eloise very rarely felt superior in anything she did, but she took some small pride in being in love with Harry all along, far before it was in vogue to lament one's poor prospects of dating him.

Even in their second year, when most of her peers were convinced he was the Heir of Slytherin and had Petrified Justin Finch-Fletchley, and even in their fourth year, when all of Hufflepuff was united in their hatred of him, she had maintained a secret, yearning love for Harry Potter.

She had wanted to speak to him so many times. They shared classes together every term – it wasn't as if she never had the opportunity. Sometimes she would plan what to say in her head, from a simple _Hi, Harry_ to elaborate scenes involving dropped quills or tripping over desks. Then she would arrive in class, and stare at him, and try to say something, but the words would catch in her throat and the moment would pass and she would say nothing.

She never told a single person.

She didn't have anyone to tell, primarily. But also, the secret of her crush sustained her, and it became private and intimate and hers alone. She could daydream about him whenever she wanted – mostly innocent, but as the years progressed, they sometimes turned salacious – and no one would ever ask her why she hadn't yet acted on something she professed to want: his attention.

In fact, she sometimes thought her infatuation was stronger precisely because she never acted upon it. She watched him laugh and grin, relaxed, with his friends, and was sometimes happy that smile was never delivered to her. After so many years, she was afraid it could never hope to live up to the devastating smile she daydreamed.

That realization came to her only in her most honest moments of self-reflection. Most of the time, she was at varying stages of her willingness to approach Harry within ritualistic cycles she concocted for herself. May in any given year was far too late to talk to him, for example, as they'd soon be departing school for the summer. Similarly, September was much too early – she needed time to determine whether he'd acquired a beautiful, charming girlfriend over the summer, one who didn't have horrendous acne and social anxiety.

There had been some close calls over the years, a few occasions where she had nearly carried out some plan or another, but in the end her fearfulness won out, swallowing up every morsel of confidence she possessed and leaving none to pursue Harry.

She had nearly asked him to the Yule Ball. She planned to pull him aside after dinner, which she ate alone, into an antechamber off the Great Hall where no other Hufflepuffs could observe her House treachery and proposition him. She had even filled out a form for owl-order Carraway's Clearing Cream, guaranteed to heal even the most horrid complexions in mere moments, and planned to post it in the Owlery that night, once he inevitably agreed to go with her.

But when she left her second-to-last period of the day, where she sat alone, she overheard two Hufflepuff sixth years gossiping about Cedric Diggory's date prospects, as Hufflepuff seventh year Katie Thompson, whom Eloise knew only by sight, had apparently unsuccessfully asked Cedric to the Yule Ball earlier that day.

"It's just so _tacky_," one girl said loudly to the other. "Asking the school champion to the Yule Ball."

"You know Katie only did it because she wanted to be the center of attention," the other girl agreed.

"I mean, would you ask Aidan Lynch to be your date for the World Cup ball?"

"Right! It's so presumptuous!"

And Eloise, never one for persevering in the face of self-doubt, felt her plan crumble.

She didn't ask Harry to the Yule Ball, and she didn't speak to him for the next year and a half.

She thought her sixth year would be different until she received her OWL results, and a note from Professor Sprout telling her very kindly not to fret, that they would meet on the first day of term and discuss how to proceed.

Eloise's father didn't even get as far as the letter. The moment he saw failing grade after failing grade, he didn't want her to return to Hogwarts. He hadn't wanted her to return before she received her results, either, but in his mind the abysmal showing cemented his decision.

"You can study at home just as well as you can study there," he'd said. "Clearly, the lessons aren't sticking."

Stung, Eloise had cried, and argued, and sulked, and eventually she'd gotten her way, after her father had written to Professor Sprout, who had written back and assured him Hogwarts' remedial OWL courses often yielded remarkable success stories, and while these were indeed perilous times, it was far better for Eloise's future to have a few OWLs to her name.

When she returned to school, Professor Sprout urged her to focus on two remedial OWL courses that year. "That will give you more options," she said. "If these go well, you can try for a few more next year, or even a NEWT. Please don't worry," she said, as Eloise felt tears begin to overflow her eyes once more. "Work hard, speak to your professors, and ask for help. And I'll write to your father and let him know what we've decided," she finished firmly.

So Eloise had tried. She tried to finish all her homework the day it was assigned, tried to practice each spell to mastery. She was terrified of falling behind, but for the most part in the first few weeks of term, she felt she was precariously succeeding.

Of course, her class schedule meant she never saw Harry anymore. Her classes were filled with other dunces like her, sixth years and even a few sorry seventh years trying to salvage their academic record. She didn't care about not being in classes with the rest of the Hufflepuff sixth years – none of them were her friends – but she was positive she'd never muster up the courage to walk up to Harry at the Gryffindor table, or in the courtyard during break, or on the grounds at the weekend.

On the second Thursday after term began, a girl she didn't know hurried up to her after lunch and handed her a note from Professor Sprout, asking Eloise to come to her office immediately. When she arrived, her father was standing, agitated, before Professor Sprout's desk.

"Dad?" Eloise asked, shocked. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to pick you up," he said. "You're leaving Hogwarts. It's not up for discussion this time."

Evidently, Eloise learned after much badgering, cajoling, and even more tears, that her father's uncle, with whom they were not close, had been found dead with the Dark Mark over his house. While the death of this distant relation meant nothing to Eloise, and she was confident her father had not spoken to the man in years, her father had apparently interpreted the murder as a harbinger for their own safety. He wanted to withdraw Eloise and leave for Europe where his sister, Eloise's aunt, lived with her family.

Eloise failed to understand how living in Europe was any safer than Britain, but her father was stalwart, immovable from the moment she entered the room. She was leaving Hogwarts and that, to him, was that. She had the evening to pack her things and say goodbye to her friends, and they would leave the following day.

That night, as she cried in her bed – she was sure all the other insufferable girls in her year heard her, but for once, she didn't feel she was taking up too much space, her self-consciousness evaporating far too late for her to act on her newfound liberation – she was sad to leave Hogwarts.

Part of it was because, while she'd largely hated her time at school, she'd spent most of the past five years learning how to exist in that solitary context, and living in Europe with her aunt's family seemed to invite ever-more-complicated social situations she was confident she would fail to navigate.

But also, she would never speak to, never act on her crush toward, and possibly never see again the Chosen One, Harry Potter. She had loved him from afar, and she'd always desperately clutched the faintest glimmer of hope that somehow, in some romantic, inexplicably complicated, happily-ever-after sort of way, she would be with him.

She felt sorriest for herself realizing she wouldn't be. And in a moment of self-clarity late in the night, she realized that – that the worst part of leaving a place she'd lived for five years was leaving a boy she had never even spoken to – was the most pathetic of all.

* * *

_Poor Eloise Midgen - even Hermione uses her as a punchline! Thanks for reading this chapter!_


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